


Out of control

by jaythewriter



Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: Another Left Behind as Static fic (of a fic), M/M, dream ending for these guys: LIVING A HEALTHY LIFE TOGETHER, somewhat of a vent piece for myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 06:28:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2057409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaythewriter/pseuds/jaythewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since he, Tim, and Brian moved in together, Jay has had all sorts of problems with food-- never this badly, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of control

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Left Behind as Static](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1075427) by [mistresspiece](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistresspiece/pseuds/mistresspiece). 



> HUGE trigger warning here: An eating disorder is kind of the main focus of this particular story (goes unspecified, but largely resembles binge eating).

Jay’s toes are cold against the linoleum kitchen tile, and no matter how slowly he carries himself through the room, his bare feet are determined to make little slapping noises against the floor. Brian is sleeping deep, passed out cold after a full day working at the bar, so Jay isn’t too worried about him. 

It’s his light sleeper of a boyfriend, eyes trained to burst open at the slightest of noises, lest they get the jump on him first. 

Not the worst of qualities to possess, but they’re free of their grimy past. It’s good for nothing now. Attempting to rise from their shared bed without rousing him is similar to the diffusing of a bomb: drawn out, terrifying, and heart pounding to the very finish.

Making it out of the bedroom and down the dangerously whiny steps was one of the more difficult feats he’s ever set out to conquer, but it’s over now. He’s in front of the fridge at last, standing in the kitchen with the lights out and his pulse hammering away in his ears.

Jay discovers that his palm has gone clammy as he wraps his hand around the fridge door handle. He tugs and unconsciously crosses his toes in lieu of crossing his occupied fingers.

The hinges don’t squeal as they tend to when an overexcited cooking Brian is in control of the kitchen. A relieved exhale takes its leave of Jay’s lungs before he lifts his gaze to the goodies laid out in front of him.

He squints past the obnoxious light emanating from the top shelf, focusing on the boxes of creamy and chewy snacks that are edible without the use of a noisy beeping microwave or a ticking stove.

Sitting at the front is an unopened box of peanut butter crunchy bars, for Brian when he wants something sweet but doesn’t want to ruin his workout. Can’t have that. He’ll wonder who broke into them before he did.

Another pack of sweets sits behind the cheery yellow box, this one boasting about possessing the title of best chocolate bar around. Jay already knows it’s not the best from last night’s binge; it’s passable, but nothing like a good Butterfingers or Snickers. His stomach rumbles at the thought of crunching down on the peanuts and licking the smears of sugary cocoa from his fingertips-- he has to shove that box aside. No way it’s going to convince him into wandering into the night at fucking three AM for some chocolate.

All the way in the back-- naturally-- is what catches Jay’s fancy: an already ripped into pack of chocolate cupcakes, squishy and chock full of vanilla frosting. His stomach gurgles and churns, reminding him of the half of dinner he didn’t eat, pretending he didn’t need it, no, no, he could go without, don’t worry.

Within moments he’s on the checkerboard patterned floor, arms encircled around the box, sighing through a mouth full of pastry. His brain throbs pleasantly, numbing him to the nausea that sets in after he swallows the first cake and he dives into the colorful packaging for a second one. Jay sucks the frosting from his lips and tucks in again, a breathy giggle breaking from his chest when it’s gone in only two seconds.

He has a third cupcake in front of his mouth when a shiver trickles down his bent spine.

The refrigerator door is still standing ajar. A chill rolls out into the kitchen and shrouds Jay in a blanket of cold. He hadn’t even noticed he was trembling until he heard a faint thud from the ceiling overhead. 

He forgets all about the noise, though, too stuck on the mess on his lap and sprawled out around him.

Plastic packets containing lingering crumbs of cake lay scattered next to his folded legs, carelessly thrown aside in his trance. The original box rests on its back, overturned, and his hands hold the evidence of his crime, marking him guilty. Crumbs cling to his fingertips and glaze shines under the shine of the absurdly bright refrigerator light.

Maybe a second ago, he would’ve licked it off, no second thought, done, no bones about it. 

But he’s incapable of so much as /looking/ at the third cupcake now. What nausea he was able to ignore before comes rolling through him, and he hugs himself, bending double. He gulps down air, attempting to flatten the sickening waves against the bottom of his stomach and stop the cupcakes from coming back up. Too much sugar at once, and whose fault was that?

“Jay?”

And just as his luck would have it, turns out the thump he heard above him was the sound of Tim’s feet meeting their bedroom floor.

He turns his head-- what’s that saying, a deer in the headlights? Jay knows a lot about deer, probably too much, and he found out recently during an attempt to procrastinate on his latest writing project that deer do not freeze before the oncoming car due to fear. They are startled by the sudden change in light and they’re trying to figure out what’s happened to their vision, and before they know it, they’re on the side of the road gathering flies.

Unlike those deer, Jay most definitely can see fine, thanks to the fridge he left hanging open, good job. No, it’s terror that’s got him pinned down to the floor.

Tim hunches inside the kitchen doorway, bathrobe thrown on and hanging loose on him. The light cast upon him warps his image, strange shadows painted beneath his jawline and his arms. He squints down at Jay, frowning, though not from displeasure. If Jay had totally fucked up, Tim would’ve let him know already.

“I… I heard you get up and I thought you went down here to get a glass of water or somethin’,” he mutters, sleep slurring his words. “But then I heard all this crinkling and shit and, just…”

The man stands straighter, brow furrowing as he takes in the tiny spot of chaos Jay has built around himself. Guilt pulls Jay’s legs to his chest and drives him to hide the last cupcake behind himself, placing it on the floor.

“I was just hungry,” he says, already achingly certain that this isn’t going to slide by on account of such a simple excuse.

And indeed, Tim approaches him using careful and quiet feet (how is it he’s able to move and never make a single sound? Can he teach Jay to do that?), and he kneels at Jay’s side, lips a stern line but his eyes gentle as can be.

“You’ve been coming down here every night for the past two weeks. Food’s been vanishing. I never noticed; that was all Brian, you know how he is about feeding us,” Tim says, going from deadpan to the faintest hint of a chuckle on his tongue. He returns to his serious words soon enough, though. “You’ve been saying you’re full at every meal when there’s practically half the food still left on your plate. So, forgive me for not believing you, but I’m going to say that this isn’t just an isolated case of midnight munchies.”

Tim’s hand lands upon Jay’s shoulder, not exactly tugging but he does get Jay to sit up straighter, so they can look one another in the eye. It is a bit difficult to hold a two-sided conversation while Jay is staring at his lap, but he can’t say he likes being expected to /explain/ himself here.

“Would you believe me if I said I don’t know what’s wrong with me?”

His boyfriend’s expression remains soft. He shifts, dusting the spot next to Jay off, sending crumbs and a packet skittering off. 

“I would believe you, yes, since I’ve had those times I just didn’t know what the hell was happening to me,” Tim confirms. He sits in the cleared off area he made for himself, his arm moving so that it lays across Jay’s shoulders. “What I don’t believe is that you’re incapable of figuring it out.”

An irritable huff parts Jay’s lips, and he leans into the warmth of Tim’s body. There isn’t really a way to pinpoint when the issue began; he’s had bullshit issues with food from the moment he ended up driving all around Alabama on a wild tape chase. 

He was living on a budget, a small one at that, and he couldn’t afford to eat every night. The first few weeks were the fucking worst; he remembers suffering on for three straight days, surviving on water because he hadn’t figured out how to be careful with his cash yet. 

It got worse when Tim showed up. Though they had considerably more money to share between the two of them, Jay would often pretend he had already had dinner when Tim offered to go out and fetch something. He kept wrappers and bags to use as evidence, since Tim began to suspect he was lying after the first few times. 

After their team fell apart, Jay practically forgot all about food-- but then again, most of that time is a blur, except for one memory that stands out in sound and smell. Gunpowder, and a sharp crack as he reels backward…

He shakes his head of the image and lets go of a long exhale.

“You already know how much I ate when we first moved in here,” Jay says finally, to which Tim gives a sad half-grin and a nod. “Which, uh, wasn’t… anything that passed for a meal or, or whatever, but ever since I got back from the hospital and they forced me to start eating more, I, I guess my stomach is wanting more than I’m used to?”

Jay turns his hands over, gazing into his sweating palms. 

“And it feels weird. And wrong. Like I’m going to cause trouble if I keep eating and I can’t stop, and…”

He closes his palms into fists and buries them into his lap, urging the sharp knuckles into his thighs. Does he sound this pathetic only to his own ears or is Tim picking up on the absurdity of his words as well?

“I wanna stop but then I can’t and I feel out of control. I don’t-- it’s… I hate it.”

The hand that was on Jay’s shoulder is now sweeping lines back and forth on his back, warming him from the assault of the refrigerator. He shudders and swallows down the stones gathered in the pit of his stomach, pretending that Tim’s silence isn’t frightening him.

He does speak eventually, although his initial words aren’t the most helpful: “You need to calm down.”

Jay snorts into Tim’s robe and burrows deeper into the cotton fabric upon feeling Tim’s disapproving eyes burning into his head.

“Shut up and listen to me,” the man orders, and so Jay does, happily. “You’re living in different circumstances. You can afford to eat a little more, probably a lot more. But you don’t need to sneak around, we aren’t going to look down on you for eating as much as we do-- I’d prefer it, actually.”

“I feel like I eat more and that it’s too much,” Jay mumbles into his side. Tim’s gentle petting stops for a moment, and his body stiffens against Jay-- is he about to be tossed off?

But, no, his pounding heart calms once the petting resumes, this time going to his pillow ruffled hair.

“If you eat too much, then, oh well. It’s only a problem if it hurts you or the money, okay? If it’s like… weight you’re worried about, well…”

He pulls Jay to sit up and-- shit, his other arm darts at him and prods him in the tummy, right where a squishy roll is beginning to form. Jay jerks away on instinct, gasping and yelping aloud.

“Just means you won’t be the only one falling asleep on a nice belly.”

Jay holds his hands to his stomach, rubbing at the tingling spot where Tim’s finger was. He sits up, frowning; this mental block sitting pretty in his mind is trying to argue with Tim, but logically, Jay knows Tim is right. This sneaking around is pointless, and the guilt is pointless as well so long as nobody is getting hurt.

Heavy as the urge to argue Tim down, he doesn’t, and he falls into his arms instead, practically squirming into his lap and looping his arms around his neck. Stronger arms snake about his waist, embracing him tight, careful not to squeeze his distended belly.

“You’re just making up for all that food you never ate, alright?” Tim whispers into his ear, and Jay nods, alright, alright, he’s right. He nuzzles into the warm nook of his shoulder and neck and lets himself melt. He exists, a little bit larger, a little bit needier, and that’s okay.

That’s really okay.

“Now… let’s close the fridge door before the electric bill skyrockets to a million or something.”

Jay has to laugh. He doesn’t know if it’s at the over exaggeration or at himself.

“Oh. Right.”


End file.
